Murders By Air
by SilverDropsOfPlatinumInTheRain
Summary: Katherine Gray, the british ambassador, is murdered in a hotel room in France. France's best detective and Britain's best detective are asked to solve the case. Can Arthur and Francis find who the murderer is before more people die?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys. Deciding to try out a murder mystery after reading tons of Agatha Christie, Ian Rankin, and watching Pink Panther 2: the movie and Sherlock. I would love your support! And ideas… because honestly, I don't think I'm good with murder mysteries.**

**Pairings will be:**

**FrUK (the main onne. Though it'll actually be ArthurxFrancis)**

**GerIta (because they're just AWESOME! ^^)**

**PruAus (yep, I love them! Oil water and all that :D)**

**And more if I remember them…**

**I look forward to your reviews!**

**.:|Silver|:.**

**DISCLAIMER: I, , do not own Hetalia and (if my life keeps going like this) never will. But, and I'm trying really hard here, if my plan succeeds I might! And when I do, France and England will be together forever and ever and ever and **_**ever**_**. Mwahahahahaha!**

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_Cachik! Cachik!_

The camera lights flashed as a man took photos qickly. Men in blue swarmed over the place, busy guarding the doors to the room as they waited for a certain someone to come. The medical examiners, in their dull blue clothing, were crowded around something on the ground some way off. There was a sudden commotion near the doorway.

A police officer raised an eyebrow at the flashy man in front of him. Said man had shoulder length blond hair that fell in waves, piercing blue eyes and a smattering of stubble along his jaw. He was dressed in dark jeans, white sneakers, white button down and a coat which had been unbuttoned. He definitely did _not_ look like the detective they were waiting for. More like a model who just fell off the runway.

"_Excuse-moi, je dois aller dedans," _he repeated, trying to ove around the man blocking his way inside. He mustve been new. Almost everyone on the police team knew who the blond detective was. Hell, even people not on the police team knew who he was!

"_Desole, monsieur. Vous n'avez pas m'a montrer l'identification approprie."_

"_Qu-ect-ce que vous dites? Je suis Francis Bonnefoy! Le meilleur detectivede la France!" _snapped the blond Frenchman. Before the sheepish police officer could deny him entrance again, another policeman caught sight of what was happening and rushed over.

"_Francis! Parfait! Qu'est ce que tu fait dehors? Viens!" _With that, Francis Bonnefoy, France's leading detective, was lead inside and ushered quickly to where all the medical examiners were. Francis cast quick glances around the room, taking in the slight changes and out-of-place things before he saw the body.

On the ground was a woman's dead body. She was lying down, looking completely serene. There was no external bruising or anything that appeared to be wrong with her. She almost looked peaceful. The policeman, Marc Beaufort, started talking. In english, for the sake of the trembling Englishman present there.

"Zis is Katherine Gray, the British _ambassadeur_. She came to France zree days ago for an important meeting…" While Marc talked, Francis observed the owmna carefully. He crouched next to her frail frame, checking her clothes with a critical eye. _Hmm, slightly damp._ He studid her finger, noting the rings and jewelery. Tan lines that were uneven.

"…and apparently she died from a-"

"From air embolism. Approximately 6mL," rang a new voice. Francis, Marc and the others present turned around to the source of the voice. Standing at the doorway was a young blond man with rather…prominent eyebrows and bright green eyes. He had a grim look on his face and a distinct English accent. He was dressed in a white button down whose sleeves had been folded to his elbows and jeans with loafers. The man held himself up with a distinct pride, his blond hair untamed.

"Who are you?" questioned Francis, quickly checking the man's posture and nodding slightly to himself.

"Your babysitter. Arthur Kirkland, best detective of Britain. I've been sent to make sure you don't mess this case up," replied the man, a small smirk playing around his lips as he stepped inside, nodding at is fellow Englishman. "Hello, chap. You must be Alan Smith, Ms. Gray's assistant, am I correct?" The short, brown haired assistant nodded, looking relieved to find a fellow countrymen there.

"Yes. I just found out-"

"It's quite okay. I'll talk to you later, hopefully over tea. Can you please give us some privacy?"

"Of course, sir. I'll see you later sir."

As soon as the assistant was out, Francis stood up, glaring at Marc.

"Marc, what is ze meaning of zis? Why is zere some random _anglais_ 'ere?"

"Oi! Froggie wanker. I don't want to be here either. I'm here to help you on your case. Ms. Gray _is_ British after all."

"I don't need ze 'elp! I'm ze best detective in France!"

"And I'm the bloody best in Britian! And we don't want you to somehow mess this up. So I don't care if you like it or not, but I'm staying here and helping."

Francis groaned, looking at Marc, who just shrugged.

"_Il allait se passer."_

"_Mais je vais mourir, Marc! Il va me tuer!"_

"_Dommage, _frog. And don't be so melodramatic," cut in a voice smoothly, a hint of an accent in his French. Francis looked at him with a cool façade.

"Melodramatic? Please, you will make my life 'ell!"

"Well, I'll try. Either way, we're going to have to work together for quite some time. If I were you, I would belt up an take it like a man. Now come on, your car is downstairs and I need to drop my bags off at your house." The Englishman turned on his heel and strode away, stealing one last glance at the body of the dead woman before making his way away. He was sure the French police were competent enough to send the body to forensics and keep the rest of the crime scene untouched. And Francis would be smart enough to have notes. Arthur let a small grin twitch his lips as he walked to the frenchman's car. _Finally. A good case and someone smart enough to keep up with me_," he mused. At the same time he heard a shriek from inside the hotel building he had just quit. His sgrin widened into a smirk. _This was going to be fun._

Francis stared blankly at Marc as Arthur left.

"Wait…de 'e just say 'e was going to stay at my 'ouse?" he asked Marc slowly. The other Frenchman gave him a sympathetic smile.

"_Bienvenue en enfer anglais, cher_."

"_NOOOOOOOOOON!"_

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**Hehe. What do you think? Reviews please?**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews ^^ They made me happy. Anywho, here's the next chapter! Enjoy!**

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Francis Bonnefoy gritted his teeth for the umpteenth time. Sitting next to him and staring at a photo of Katherine Gray was Arthur Kirkland. It had taken them less than two minutes to realize they couldn't get along very well. Arthur was staring at the photo with a frown on his face, turning it this way and that as he mumbled to himself.

"…Slightly damp clothes…chipped nails…unstyled hair…"

Francis rolled his eye, sighing and standing up to go to the kitchen.

"Earl Grey, two sugars and wiz lemon?" he asked, walking away to make the tea. If he thought the Englishman was surprised, then he was sorely mistaken.

"And make some coffee while you're at it. _Café au lait_, because you can't drink while you're at work." The Englishman's lips twitched into a grin as he heard a snort from the kitchen. There was relative silence as they both worked. The longhaired blond finally walked into the living room, setting down the steaming beverages with a plate of pastries next to them. Arthur finally looked up from the photos and frowned as he studied the mug in which his tea had been served. A coffee mug.

"Why is my tea being served in a coffee mug?" he inquired, eyeing the pastries before wrinkling his nose. The Frenchman shrugged, sipping his coffee.

"I don't 'ave any china for serving your teain." Arthur let out a disapproving noise before taking the mug, sipping from it and returning his gaze to the photos.

"Ms. Katherine Gray. Age 32, recently divorced as can be seen from the recent absence of her wedding ring, dating a man who's gay but she didn't know it, dyes her hair, wears contacts, has reading glasses-"

"'ow much of zis 'ave you read from 'er file and 'ow much 'ave you deduced?"

"Don't interrupt me when I'm talking, frog. She was killed in Lyon, if I'm correct because she was due there and it was raining," he said, looking at Francis expectantly. The Frenchman gave a reluctant nod and then cleared his throat.

"She died about twenty zree hours ago, air embolism, as you know. 'er nails, as you mentioned, are chipped, which means she probably got into a fight wiz ze assailant. 'er 'air was unstyled, she didn't expect anyone to come meet 'er in 'er 'otel room. I noticed uneven tan lines on 'er fingers. She 'as a ring missing from 'er finger, a platinum one wiz a razer large diamond on it. Not to be confused wiz ze wedding ring," he stated. He received an approving nod.

"Good. She used to smoke. Do you have her mobile?"

"Ze police 'as it. zey want to check it over," replied the Frenchman with a small frown. Arthur stood up, setting his mug down and getting a grin on his face.

"Well? Why are we sitting here? You don't honestly expect me to wait for the mobile do you?" Francis grinned and followed Arthur out, grabbing his coat and slamming his door shut.

…

"Alright, gentlemen! I demand to be shown the possessions of Ms. Gray!" called Arthur as he entered the police station. All of the policemen looked at him questioningly and then Marc stepped forward.

"I apologize, Monsieur Kirkland, but you cannot see 'er belongings until we are zrough wiz zem," he said firmly. Arthur's lips twitched and he strode forward, all the while glaring at Marc. Francis watched on with interest.

"Mr. Beaufort, I know you are having problems with your wife and you have been sleeping on your uncomfortably lumpy sofa. Also, your only daughter has just found a boyfriend, and you are tensed because you want the best for her. I understand that this sweater is uncomfortable, that you're going to take your wife on a date to make up for your argument-"

"And 'e's upset because 'is dog will be put down," added Francis. Arthur glanced at him and nodded.

"But Mr. Beaufort, might I remind you that Ms. Gray was British. And I would rather like it if you handed her possessions to me this instant. I do not want to have to get people coming in from Britain to talk to you. I mean, I don't work for the government, but I know people who do," he finished. Marc was staring at both detectives with open mouths. Francis had _never_ talked back to him. At least not this much. But this man, this random Englishman, had just pranced in and talked back. The nerve! And how they knew about his personal life, he didn't even want to know. He sighed and glanced at one of his officers, barking for them to bring the possessions over. He turned back to the two detectives. They were smirking at each other. _Magnifique, now zey boz are getting along wiz each ozzer_, he thought sarcastically. A sudden cough caught everyone's attentions. They turned to the source of the noise and found a man standing there. He was blond and talked in French with a slightly funny accent. Canadian. Francis beamed and pulled the Canadian man holding a bag over, hugging him.

"_Mathieu! C'est genial de te voir! Ca va?"_

"_B-bonjour, Francis. Oui, ca va bien, et vous?"_

"_Oui, oui. Comme si, comme ca. _Say 'ello to Arthurr. 'e is Mr. Best-detective-of-_Grand Bretagne_," he introduced. Arthur nodded at the Canadian.

"Lovely to meet you, Matthew Williams. I am Arthur Kirkland," he greeted. Matthew blinked, not really surprised that the man knew his name (after working with someone like Francis, it wasn't a great surprise that his partner could do it too).

"Hello. It's nice to meet you Mr. Kirkland," he replied, smiling slightly and holding out the bag. "Ms. Gray's possessions. I finished my check on them. We couldn't find any fingerprints," he explained.

"Of course you couldn't!" chorused Francis and Arthur, looking at him like he was stupid or something.

"The killer-" started Arthur.

"-Who is a man-," continued Francis.

"-Of about 26 years-"

"-With blond hair-"

"-Was wearing gloves-"

"-Made from white cotton."

Both the detectives stared at Matthew until he fidgeted.

"It was easy to see that, _cher cousin_," said the French detective, taking the bag and studying the contents. Arthur snatched the bag from him and nodded at the young ME.

"Well, thank you for bringing this to us, Matthew. The frog and I will be going. Good day. And I think you should take your dog to the vet to get his limp checked out." With that said, both the detectives walked away, arguing with each other over who would drive. Marc gaped after them.

"_L'un etait deja mauvais_…" he mumbled, shaking his head. Matthew gave the man a sympathetic look.

"_Je sais."_

"_Bienvenue en enfer?" _offered another officer. The man leading the case sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"_J'etais deja en enfer, Gregoire. C'est l'enfer double."_

Matthew decided to leave, mentally shaking his head. Great. One Francis had been bad enough, now it seemed like his new friend was even worse than him. Brilliant. Two of them.

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**So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Awesome? Please review!**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews! So, you guys wanted translations and I shall provide them! ^^ Sorry for not providing them earlier. Oh well. Enjoy this chapter!**

**.:|Silver|:.**

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Francis lounged in his seat, staring with concentration at a picture of the late Ms. Gray. About a minute later there was a shuffling noise and Arthur walked into the room, toweling his hair dry. He paused at the edge of the couch to study the picture before moving away to put the towel to dry.

"Got any food, frenchie?" he asked, coming back to flop onto the couch and study the picture.

"_Oui_. I'll make somezing. Unless…you want to?"

"Fine. What do you feel about a chicken curry with rice for lunch?" asked the Brit, already moving to the kitchen. Francis looked up and blinked before shrugging and frowning at the photo, taking down some notes. Arthur took that as a 'yes' and moved into the kitchen to start working.

_Hmmm… She was injected in her neck with a precision that only a doctor or a nurse 'as. I 'ave to tell Marc to bring me 'er personal doctor…_ mused Francis, writing down the note for himself.

"I'm going to be meeting with Alan Smith tonight," said Arthur from the kitchen, jolting the Frenchman from his musings and setting down a plate of food in front of him. Francis studied the food. It looked strangely appetizing. He shrugged mentally and dug in, blinking in surprise because it actually tasted…_good_. The green-eyed blond next to him was too busy checking the phone of the ambassador.

"…Hmm...New cover, a bit scratched, but otherwise new… someone made this phone look like her old one. The scratches as relatively new since they're very clear…" he mumbled to himself, turning the phone around before nodding sharply and taking down another note, pausing only to shove some more food into his mouth. Francis had left his notes, concentrating instead on the food. It was surprisingly good.

"Are you done examining ze phone?" he asked the Englishman, putting his plate away and picking up one of her bracelets. _Chipped, slightly bent, one jewel is missing_… he mused. Arthur pushed his own plate away and swiped his thumb across the screen, staring at the lock with a groan.

**PASSWORD?**

The word was sitting there on the screen with a four-digit space underneath it. The Brit showed the screen to Francis, both of them frowning.

"We might 'ave to ask Marc to 'elp us," grumbled Francis with disgust, snatching the phone out of the other blond's hands and typing in a password. _Her birthday…isn't zat what people normally use?_

_**4189**_

**WRONG PASSWORD. THREE TRIES LEFT.**

Francis groaned and tossed the phone away, taking the plates and stalking to the kitchen, dumping them in the sink before flopping down again, picking up a file on Alan Smith.

"Are you going to come with me when I'm going to interview Alan?" Arthur asked to break the silence. Francis looked over at him and hummed distractedly.

"If you want me- _Mon dieu! _I just remembered! We 'ave to get to ze forensic lab! I want a closer look at ze cadaver!" he said, jumping up and rushing to put his coat back on. The Englishman rolled his eyes, following him out and slamming the door behind himself.

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"_Alfred! Ou es tu?"_ **[Alfred! Where are you?] **Called Francis, looking around the forensic laboratory eagerly. A blond man popped his head out of a room, rolling his blue eyes at the French detective. He stepped out of the room and walked towards them, his white lab coat swirling around his knees, white sneakers silent on the floor.

"Dude, how many times have I told you? I don't get any of what you say," he said in a distinct American accent. Then he paused, his eyes drifting to the other blond standing next to the detective. He raised an eyebrow.

"_Bonjour, monsieur," _he greeted, making Francis and Arthur flinch at the accent.

"I can speak English very well, thank you very much," said Arthur, saving them from dying by the mutilated accent. 'Alfred' breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled.

"Awesome, dude! Are you English?"

"No, I'm Scottish," replied Arthur sarcastically. Alfred made a confused face before brightening.

"Really? Where's your kilt? Can I see it? Did you see Braveheart? It was awesome! '_They can take our lives, but they cannae take our freedom'_!" said the American excitedly, mimicking a bad Scottish accent. The green-eyed man blinked then looked at Francis with a look that said 'is this guy for real?'

"Really Francis, is this man even competent for the job?" he finally asked. Alfred looked a bit offended while the Frenchman snickered.

"Alfred, Arthurr is _anglais_. Not _ecossais _**[Scottish]**, I assure you," he explained. The glasses wearing blond's face slowly cleared and he gave a sheepish grin.

"Sorry man. Let's start over, yeah?" he offered. Arthur sniffed.

"Why don't we just get on with what we came here for, Mr. Jones?" he suggested, already pulling on latex gloves he produced from his coat's pocket as he started walking down the corridor and to where the body was. Alfred stared after the Brit with a bemused look.

"He's got a stick up his ass," he noted. Francis snorted.

"A very big one," agreed the Frenchman before hurrying after his 'partner' and pulling on his own gloves. They all entered the autopsy room and studied the woman lying on the table, covered to her neck in a white sheet. Alfred moved forwards, back in his territory, and smiled at the two detectives.

"So, she was killed by-"

"Air embolism, we know," chorused both the said detectives, glancing at each other and then back at the pathologist. Said pathologist pouted.

"Aw man! If you guys know everything why did you come to me?"

"We need more details. Anything interesting?" asked Arthur, shifting the sheets away form the woman's arm so he could study her hand.

_Ambidextrous, hadn't smoked for at least two days, the missing ring is, well, missing, hmm…her nails are chipped. _While Arthur was studying Katherine's left hand, Francis was busy studying her right foot. Alfred watched both the detectives curiously before sighing and clearing his throat. They both glanced up then returned to their work, the only thing that said they were listening was Francis' questioning noise.

"Right, she died from air embolism. The air was most likely injected through her neck. She put up quite a struggle with her assailant and managed to scratch him. I found skin under her nails." That had the older blonds' attention. They both looked at him.

"It was a man's. Um, he's in the records too. Someone called Erik Muller," said the American, shuffling and moving towards the dead ambassador to cover her chest properly. Arthur had frozen next to her hand. He suddenly sprung away and rushed out of the room with a muttered 'goddammit'. The remaining occupants of the room looked at each other before rushing out too. Well, Alfred rushed out. Francis paused, looking back at the body. _A small bruise on 'er cheek…backhanded across ze face most likely. _The Frenchman hesitated, glancing at the door and the body. Deciding quickly, he took two steps towards the body again and opened her eye. _Bloodshot._ He glanced towards the door again before shifting the sheet up and studying the woman's chest before replacing it and walking out of the room. _Fake. Breast implants_. He quickly exited the room.

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Arthur was pacing the forensic building's garden, scowling at the ground. _Why, why Why?_ Alfred watched him silently, wondering if it was safe to ask why the Brit seemed angry. That's when the younger blond noticed that their oldest companion wasn't here. He was about to say something when a familiar voice came to him.

"Alfred? Mister Kirkland? What are you doing here?" asked Matthew, walking over and looking between the detective and his partner doctor. Alfred shrugged at his brother, looking back at Arthur who had resumed striding.

"I told them about Erik and then Arthur came here. Did you see Franny anywhere?"

"_Non_. Isn't he with you?"

"Nope."

"I am 'ere. Arthurr? I 'ave to talk to you," announced a familiar French voice. To Francis' surprise, Arthur had said the second sentence with him. They both studied each other, trying to deduce, before giving up and nodding at each other, walking a little way away from the two doctors.

"I'll go first," volunteered the Englishman, already starting to talk. "Erik Muller, a danger in many countries and known for drug dealing. Unfortunately, he's in here right now-"

"But 'e couldn't 'ave committed ze murder because you knew 'im?" interrupted the Frenchman, looking at the other blond with a slight frown. Arthur paused and solemnly nodded.

"Its not that I'm supporting him or something," he explained. "It's just, I know his brother too. Erik's brother is in the police, and Erik… Well, he started going out with an aristocrat, and you know how it is with those people. He gave up on crime and went legal. As far as I remember, he started a private detective thing too."

"And 'is name isn't Erik is it?"

"No. His name is-"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"You know him?"

"_Oui. _'e was a friend. I just wanted to know if you knew 'im."

"Lovely. I already talked to him. He's coming over here in about twenty minutes."

"_Fantastique!_ I 'aven't seen 'im since college!"

"Re-"

They both were cut off as their conversation was suddenly invaded by a swarm of policemen grabbing hold of them. Needless to say, both the detectives were surprised.

"_Qu'est ce que vous faites? Nous sommes detectives!" _**[what are you doing? We're detectives!] **Said Francis indignantly. Marc appeared from the small horde and sighed, eyeing both the detectives with a slightly sorry look on his face.

"_Est-ce que tu peut nous expliquer pourquoi un fugitive viens ici? En…vingt minutes?"_ **[Can you tell us why a fugitive is coming here? in…twenty minutes?]** Asked the inspector calmly, waiting for an explanation. Francis and Arthur looked at each other then back at Marc.

"_Je peux expliquer-"_ **[I can explain-]** began Arthur, only to be cut off as Alfred and Matthew were pushed towards them, accused of helping a fugitive. Both the doctors looked confused. Francis rolled his eyes, firmly shaking off his captor. Arthur was already smoothing his coat, a glare directed at the inspector.

"_Marc! C'est pour le cas! Alfred m'a dit que le peau d'Erik a ete retrouver dans les ongles de mademoiselle Katherine! Nous voulions juste l'appler car il est ici. Et aussi ecouter son alibi. Mon dieu, Marc. Toi et ton imagination!_" **[Marc! It's for the case! Alfred told me that Erik's skin was found in Katherine's fingernails! We just wanted to call him over while he was here. And also listen to his alibi. My god, Marc. You and your imagination!] **Explained Francis, rolling his eyes at the end. The man looked a bit suspicious but instructed for the MEs to be released. The Englishman scowled disdainfully, crossing his arms.

"And I have had enough of your interruptions, Mister Marc. I don't care who you are, but I will not let you ruin this case. Everything we are doing is for a reason, and if you question those reasons, I swear I _will_ fid a way to pin the blame on your country and watch you suffer. Now if you are quite-"

"Is the awesome me interrupting something? _Kesesesesesese!_"

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**What do you think? Good? Bad? Okay? I translated the French here (Up there so you guys don't go without understanding the dialogues as they come)! I hope you all liked it! Anyways, review!**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Sorry for the long time it took to update, but my muse isn't really helping. Her current substitute isn't much help either. Ah, sorry. Here's the next chapter for you guys! Enjoy!**

**.:|Silver|:.**

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Arthur and Francis were seated comfortably in the Forensic lab, folders spread out before them and policemen and a certain albino detective surrounding them. Well, the policemen surrounded them, waiting for them to make a move so Marc would have a good reason to toss them into jail. Gilbert just sort of sat there and grinned.

"So, vhy did you call the awesome me over, Franny?" he asked, running a hand through his white hair, his scarlet eyes glinting as they took in the MEs. France snorted.

"I assume you know zat you are suspected for ze murder of Katherine Grey," he started, receiving a nod in return and a skeptical roll of red eyes. Arthur chuckled.

"Well, we wanted to know a couple of things. First, what were you doing here?"

"I came here to meet up vith Eliza. You know, the crazy lady-man," he stated. Green eyed looked over at Francis, confused at what Gilbert was saying. The Frenchman winced and nodded.

"Ah, Elizaveta. She would be razer beautiful if she didn't try to kill us," he mumbled, sighing and shaking his head. Marc straightened up at the word 'killing'.

"_Pardon? Qui tue qui?" _**[Pardon? Who's killing whom?] **he asked with interest. Francis snorted again.

"_Nous parlons de Elizaveta. Et pas vraiment tuer. Elle voulais nous voir en train de fair l'amour," _**[We're talking about Elizaveta. She wants to watch us making love to each other]**. Arthur made a face.

"Proper ladies shouldn't act like that," he commented lightly. The Prussian albino stared at him incredulously.

"Artie, man, since vhen vas Eliza a lady? Didn't I already tell you she's a lady-man?"

"Right."

There was a pause as everyone studied the notes. Marc was the first to break the silence.

"Alright. Can you tell me why you 'ave called Erik Muller 'ere?" asked Marc, looking rather ticked off. Francis glanced up at the detective and grinned.

"_Il est mon ami. Et il n'est pas un trafiquant maintenant. Il a le béguin pour un homme. Un Roderich Edelstein qui est un aristrocrate et musicien. Très bandante,_" **[He's my friend. And he isn't a drug dealer anymore. He has a crush on a man. A certain Roderich Edelstein who's an aristocrat and a musician. Very sexy] **explained the longhaired blond, ignoring the suspicious look from Gilbert at the snicker from Arthur.

"Vat did you say, Franny? Vhy is Artie laughing?" asked the Prussian, casting suspicious looks at everyone. Marc had a vaguely horrified look at the French detective's personal opinions about Gilbert's boyfriend.

"Nozing. Trust me, I didn't say anyzing wrong," said Francis airily, occupying himself with shuffling the sheaf of notes importantly. The albino gave a final suspicious glance before giving up and leaning back.

"Like I said, I vas here on a vacation. I vas definitely not here to _murder_ someone. If I did Roddy vould be upset vith me. He already doesn't like the fact that I offer my awesome _detektiv_ skills to people."

Marc gave him a skeptical look but didn't say anything more as Arthur studied the pictures and put them down, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward.

"I don't know if I should be worried about this or not, but the ambassador seems to have been taking drugs, according to the MEs," said the Brit, glancing at said MEs. Matthew stepped forward, nodding, and spoke softly.

"We found out she's been doing drugs for quite some time and seems to have developed a slight resistance to them. She took-" The Canadian was cut off by Alfred, who was just dying to show off too.

"Synthetic marijuana. Worse than real marijuana, but I guess more addictive," said Alfred, glancing sharply between the detectives and the police.

"_Cannabis?_" asked a random policeman, who's name turned out to be Stéphane, after a pause. There were nods from both the MEs.

"_Le cannabis est legal Canada. Peut être…elle l'a obtenu à partir de Canada," _**[Cannabis is legal in Canada. Maybe…she got it from Canada] **offered Matthew quietly. The albino in the room frowned slightly.

"My French isn't that good, Birdie. Care to speak in English or German?"

"Hey, dude, did you just call my bro 'Birdie'? Are you, like, cheating on the Roddy guy with my bro?" asked a slightly enraged voice. Canada groaned and buried his face in his hands while Alfred did a whole alpha-male-overprotective-brother routine. Once he was done strutting around he found himself staring into about twelve pairs of amused eyes. The American flushed slightly and crossed his arms defensively, raising his chin and looking away. The Prussian cackled and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

"No. But, ve _are_ good friends and I think I am entitled to nickname him vatever I vant."

Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes, interrupting any row that might start out.

"Right. Gilbert, I said that can- marijuana is legal in Canada so that's were Ms. Grey could have gotten it from," he explained. That had everybody's attentions again. They hummed and mused, looking rather thoughtful.

"I think I have a vague idea of what could be happening," mused Arthur. Next to him, Francis was sporting a similar look. He glanced at the Brit and they both nodded.

Francis broke the thoughtful silence.

"Arthurr, I would like to 'ave a word wiz you. Outside, preferably," he said, standing up. The Englishman cast him a look before slowly standing up and followngi the Frenchman. Once they both were gone, Gilbert glanced over all the files and photographs before turning his gaze on the policemen.

"Okay, where's the letter, Marky?" he asked, leaning forward and tapping his fingers against the table. The man gave him a glare.

"Zere is _no_ letter."

"Don't lie. I know you've got a letter from the killer. I can see it from here," said the Prussian. Marc's hand immeditenly flew to his coat pocket and he glancerd down before frowning.

"No you can't!"

"_Kesesesese!_ I can't believe you fell for it. Are you going to show it to me?"

The policeman grudgingly shuffled closer to the albino and let him read the letter. It was in French, but what stood out most to the German man were the words '_tuer_' and '_mort'_. Those were the only words he had bothered to learn, words which meant and/or were related to death. He raised and eyebrow and handed the note back.

"So you might be killed. If I vere you I vould keep security right now. And please install a CCTV in front of your house and use a tracker. If you die Francis and Arthur vould prefer some clues," said the albino dismissively, leaning back and looking outside to see if he could discern where the other two detectives were. Suddenly all the other policemen were talking, waving their hands around agitatedly and trying to read the letter all at once. It was this moment that Francis and Arthur made their way inside the room, looking around with slight confusion. Someone chose the moment to read out the letter loudly.

"_Okay! Écoutez moi! Je vais le lire! Ahem._

_Salut Marc!_

_Je n'aime pas que tu mêles dans mon travail. Mais c'est pas grave. Fais attention, tu pourrais être le prochain mort. Et je ne veux te tuer. Tu es plûtot intèressant._

_Adieu, chou!"_

**[Hello Marc! **

**I don't like you meddling in my work. But it's okay. Pay attention, though, you might be the next one dead. And I really don't want to kill you. You're very interesting. **

**Till next time, sweetheart!]**

The officers broke out into a new uproar. The French understanding people had paled. Francis and Arthur were furiously discussing this new fact. Gilbert and Matthew were looking worried. Everyone was panicking. Everyone was talking. Alfred was getting concerned. He raised his arms in a calming gesture and shouted.

"CALM YO' TITS!"

There was an awkward silence. Matthew had face-palmed and many of the officers were flushing or looking confused. Francis was sporting a vaguely confused and perverted look. And Arthur? Well, what to say about him? The Brit was looking very confused and embarrassed that a fellow English speaker had shouted that. He spoke slowly.

"Alfred…you _do_ know that none of us are women right? We wouldn't have the womanly…assets. And none of it makes sense."

"It's a figure of speech," said the American. There was some more silence before Marc spoke.

"Well, I will try not to make my deaz 'ard for you. Zat is, _if_ it ever 'appens. I 'ave good security measures, I'm sure nozing will 'appen."

"Hopefully we can catch the murderer before anything happens to you," admonished the English detective. There was another silence in which many people still gave Alfred disturbed looks before someone burst in.

"_Marc? On a un autre meurtre."_ **[Marc? There was another murder.]**

The French detective clapped his hands together, a grim look settling on his face even though his eyes lit up.

"_Génial! Allons-y!" _**[Great! Let's go!] **said Franics, swilring out of the room. Arthur was already striding out to the frenchmna's car. Marc stared after both of them for a while before groaning and following them, gesturing fr both the forensic doctors to come too.

"_Ils vont être la mort de moi_," **[they're going to be the death of me] **he grumbled as a car honked its horn outside and certain green eyes glared out at the men.

"_Je sais comment vous sentez_," **[I know how you feel] **said Matthew sympathetically, making his way to his own car.

_Zat would be impossible,_ mused Marc.

* * *

**Sorry for the long update. How did you like it? Good? Bad? Okay? Please review!**

**.:|Silver|:.**


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